


Ashes and Wine

by littlelady1121



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: AU, Brotp, Crime, Depression, Derek and Spencer are best bros, Eventual Smut, FBI, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Food, Penelop Garcia just wants to see all her babies happy, Smut, bau, criminal minds - Freeform, he needs a nerd lady, i love creating people and she is good, independent woman, lots of teasing, reid is a smart cookie, spencer needs love, spencer reid is a nerd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelady1121/pseuds/littlelady1121
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer Reid meets a lively young chef, and she brings the young agent out of his shell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Spencer peeked into her bedroom, the afternoon sunshine blocked by thick tapestry curtains, only a sliver of light staining the carpeted floors from where he opened the door, and it illuminated a small corner of the random piles of clothes and books.

She lay curled in her bed, knees to her stomach, the side of her face pressed into the pillows, while three others surrounded her petite form. Her dark hair was splashed against the blue blankets, one hand clutching the corner of her comforter. She had not moved in over thirty six hours, and this was the longest she had been in a depression-induced sleep. He had a call, but he was afraid to wake her. But also afraid to let her sleep.

“You can come in, Spencer.” she mumbled, her voice was dry, her lips chapped. Her eyes remained closed. The room was musty, and he avoided the piles of clothing, sweat pants, blouses, business skirts. He sat on the edge of the bed, and it dipped with his weight. Still she didn’t move.

“Gaetana,” he whispered, afraid to break the silence with his own words. “You need to get up. Eat. Drink something.” She didn’t answer, but her legs shifted, rustling against the sheets. Gingerly, he placed a hand on her body, but she barely stirred.

“Please, Gaetana,” he pleaded. She cracked open an eye, and with a exhausted effort, turned her head. Her eyes were red rimmed, bloodshot. Her wan smile was false.

“You have a call. Go.” she said, closing her eyes, squeezing them shut like looking at him was painful. She took in a deep shaky breath,

“I’ll shower. And make tea.” but her voice was soft and words were difficult to come by.

And he knew he shouldn’t blame her, but a small part of him wanted to beg her to make a stand. He wanted to scream at her, but Spencer was not a man who yelled. But now he wished he was, and he wanted to take her into his arms and shake her and demand that the fiery woman he first met to return to him. But he knew that wouldn’t work. He knew better than anyone. So, Dr. Spencer Reid stood up, with something horrible lodged in his throat, and his hands shaking.

He walked out of her bedroom, leaving darkness and silence behind him, and closed the door as softly as he could.

~~~

Many months prior to this moment, Dr. Spencer Reid walked into the FBI BAU office carrying a steaming cup of fresh coffee in one hand and a poppy seed muffin in the other. His worn leather satchel was slung over his shoulder, his hair was the usual mess, and summer finally arrived.

“Hey pretty boy,” Morgan called from his chair as Reid sat down. A bigger stack of files stood squarely on his desk than when he left the night previous. Reid wanted to scowl, but found he couldn’t.

“So, Morgan,” he spun his chair around, leaning back, tapping his fingers nervously on his legs. “Do you like poppy seed muffins?”

Morgan raised an eyebrow and leaned on his arms, giving his younger partner a stern look.

“You trying to pawn off another muffin?”

“Muffins? Is someone giving away muffins?” Penelope chirped, carrying a laptop in one arm, an excited smile across her face. “Oh man, muffins from La Luna?!” she cried spotting the large muffin with the moon spotted wrapper.

“Well, just one.”

“The _fourth_ this week.” Morgan corrected, still eyeing Reid as he handed Penelope the still warm baked good.

“Why do you keep buying poppy seed muffins if you don’t like them?” Penelope asked through a full mouth.

“Good question.” Morgan reaffirmed. Reid looked sheepish, and bit his lip. Garcia perked up, and a smile lit up her face.

“Tell me!” she urged, wiggling her fluffy tipped pink pen at him.

“Well, I go to La Luna for coffee.” he held up his cup, and purposefully took a sip, but jerked away, his lip burnt. Morgan chuckled.

“And apparently muffins you don’t like.” Morgan added, Reid looked away. He put his coffee down, and glanced at the muffin, half eaten, in Penelope’s hand.

“No, she gave it to me.” He had a wistful look in his eyes.

“Oh, a lady friend?” Penelope asked, shaking her shoulders.

“Well, I wouldn’t call her a friend...” Reid shook his head, twisting his watch.

“Spit it out, Reid.” Morgan laughed, wheeling his chair over.

JJ and Prentiss walked by, holding files. “Spit what out?”

“Reid was just going to tell us why he keeps getting a poppy seed muffin without buying it.” Morgan explained. JJ gave Reid a knowing look.

“And he hates poppy seed muffins.”

“I never said I hate them.” Reid interjected.

“And you haven’t explained why you have them.” Garcia prompted, nudging Reid’s chair with her foot. She offered a piece of the muffin to JJ and Prentiss, which they accepted.

“Well, I went there last week, just like you said,” he pointed to Garcia, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Great little place about a block from the office. Best stuff ever. She opened up like two years ago, but I just found out like last month. I get my coffee there every morning, and sometimes lunch. The owner is a dream.”

“Ha, yeah, she is.” Reid’s mouth curled at the corners, and all heads swiveled to look at him.

“You know the owner?” Garcia looked at him from over her glasses, and Reid took this moment to blush.

“Well, knowing connotes something other than stuttering a good morning I think.” he grumbled, “Anyway, I went there for coffee and she happened to refreshing her batch of muffins and I said they smelled delicious.”

“So you stuttered a good morning and got a free muffin?” Morgan scoffed, “that can’t be right. I’m not even good enough for that.”

“Well, actually, I’ve gone every morning since and each time get a free muffin. I just don’t like poppy seed.”

“So, you’re interested?” Morgan arched an eyebrow.

“She’s a chef, how can he not be interested?” Garcia countered.

“A damn good one.” Prentiss popped the last bit of her muffin into her mouth.

“But how do you know it’s the owner?” JJ asked, shifting her files to her other hip. Classic mom movement.

“Well, when she asked me how I liked the muffin the other morning, I may have lied and told her it was really good. She said it was good to hear, seeing as she was the owner she liked good reviews.” Reid shrugged, “I may have googled the place, and it said she was the owner and the head chef too.”

“She so threw that in there to impress you.”

“Oh, I know she did. It worked.”

“So, lunch at La Luna today?” Garcia’s smile was wicked. Morgan clapped Reid on the back, and then turned to Penelope, “You got it, baby girl.”

“Guys, no.” Reid stumbled, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He ran a hand over his head, his fingers digging into his hair.

“Of course it is.” Morgan wheeled back over to his desk, “We need to check this lady out if she’s caught your attention.”

Dr. Reid groaned.


	2. Chapter 2

The tiny yellow-painted building had an large blue awning with a completely ridiculous design of crescent moons, just like the muffin wrappers. To the side of the glass windows was a roped off area full of iron chairs and tables, shaded and cool. Large stone flower boxes were full of herbs and lavender. It was after the lunch rush, and only a few people lingered in the mid-spring air. The street was quiet.

“You ready?” Morgan looked to his tall, thin partner, who only shrugged, standing immobile outside the quaint restaurant.

“Something smells delightful,” Penelope sniffed the air, and walked through the door. Morgan pushing Reid behind her.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” her voice was whip harsh, and loud. It filled every corner of the floor, and greeted the four FBI agents like a slap.

A stocky fellow with a neat polo shirt and shorts stood in front of a very petite, dark haired young woman holding a flour caked wooden spoon. She was in plain jeans and a graphic shirt, her eyes narrowed as she glared up at the customer. A woman stood behind the counter, an apron around her waist, her eyes downcast, hands clasped in fornt of her, head ducked down.

He sputtered, “What...” a flare of indignant shock and then anger crossed his features.

“Don’t play dumb.” she barked, “it’s not flattering. I have warned you twice now not to come in here.” He stepped closer to her, his bulk meant to intimidate.

“Back off, this is between me and Claire.”

“Oh no it isn’t, not in here. Come in here again and I’ll call the cops. I don’t need your stupidity scaring away customers.” her voice was high in pitch, anger straining the features of her round face. Her hair was pulled away tightly in a braid, her shoulder tense.

“I don’t think I’m the one scaring away customers.” his laugh was taunt for mirth.

“ _Che cazzo hai detto tu stronzetto_?” she seethed, the spoon shoved into his face, mouth pursed into a thin line.

“I think that was Italian,” Garcia whispered to her compatriots.

The four waited by the door, watching the confrontation, just like the other few sitting around the tables. A door to their left lead to the small patio, and a wide open stairway beyond disappeared above them. The man patted away the spoon, and took one step closer to her.

“You don’t scare me, Gaetana.” She took one step closer to him now, eyes narrowed, jaw set, and anger dripping off her like sweat. Other customers shifted uncomfortably, and Reid couldn’t help but watch her. She was a flame, a spark, and she pulsed.

“You should, you miscreant, I know where every single knife is in this entire place and you come in here again, I’ll leave in the cop car and _you_ in the ambulance.”

She backed away and stood up, chin tilted up, defiant and stony, she pointed roughly at the door. “Now. Get. Out.”

The young man turned on his heel, and barged through the side door with his shoulder, kicking it shut with his foot. “I’ll send you the bill!” she shouted after him.

She barely glanced at the four of them, “grab any table you want,” she ordered, waving the spoon in circles at them absent mindedly before hurrying back behind the counter.

“Claire, sweetie, are you okay?” His focus was soft and currently on the sniffling girl behind the counter. She put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “Why don’t you go take a break? I’ve got it from here.”

“But...you,” Claire sniffed again, and Gaetana pressed a napkin into her hand, and brushed hair from the girl’s face. “You should have gone home an hour ago.”

“Pfft,” Gaetana put the spoon down, “go, relax, and have some tea.” She gave Claire a quick push in the direction of the kitchen, where the sounds of cooking resumed.

The few occupied tables tittered nervously, glancing over at the woman who only moments ago took on a man who looked to be twice her height and weight. Gaetana looked up, a cheerful, exuberant smile on her face, and clapped her hands, no hint of embarrassment. “Well,” she sighed, “lunch and a show, amiright?”

She was greeted with a few low chuckles, but mostly, they returned to their meals. Morgan shook his head, and Garcia smiled.

“Well, one heck of a woman, eh Reid?” Morgan said, watching as she bustled around the counter, fixing trays of pastries and scones. She grabbed a small pad and pencil, and liesurely came over to their table, stopping to check on two others on the way, chatting easily with them, gesticulating with her hands as she spoke.

When she came over to them her smile was wide, but her eyes looked exhausted up close. Although they sparked when they glanced over at Reid. She greeted them casually, the spoon tucked into her back pocket, flour dusting her shirt.

“Couldn’t get enough of the muffins, huh?” she quipped, leaning against the wall, pen and pad in her hands. Reid opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Yeah, well no. I don’t actually like poppy seed muffins.” he stammered out, and then grimaced. Morgan wanted to cuff his friend up side his head, but he settled for just rubbing a hand over his scalp. Garcia sighed dramatically, and kicked at Reid under the table. Prentiss badly hid her laughter with her hand over her mouth.

Gaetana’s expression went blank for a moment, and then her attention and smile left Reid and was turned to the others.

“So, what can I start you off with then?” she asked, to no one in general. Garcia raised a hand,

“Can I have a coke please? Diet if you have it.”

“Sure do.” she responded, scribbling on her pad.

“Just water.” Prentiss added, and Morgan nodded, raising his hand, “Same here.”

Her eyes slid over to Reid, and pinned him to his chair, once again his words getting caught in his throat. “Coffee?” she asked, her lips smirking, “or do you not really like that either?”

Her eyes were deep, and laugh lines crinkled around them as she gave Reid a look that was somewhere between amusement and snark.

“I...oh, oh, I, yeah, love coffee. Just not muffins, but I drink coffee a lot. So yeah, coffee is good.”

She looked him over, and one eyebrow arched. She pointed to a chalk board behind her and above the register. “Those are the items we have available. We close in forty-five minutes, just so you know. I’ll bring your drinks.”

She gave one last look to Reid, before shrugging, more to herself, and leaving.

“That was your most shining moment, Reid.” Morgan told him, “telling her - _now_ \- that you don’t like the muffins?”

“I panicked.” Reid mumbled leaning back in the chair, “girls, not my forte. I'm a genius not a casanova.”

“Definitely not your forte.” Garcia agreed, “babbling isn’t going to win a girl over.” She tapped her pen on the table, it clinked on the glass top.

“Most women want some conversation,” Prentiss added, casually.

“Well, then that rules out Reid here.” Morgan laughed, “all he has is statistics and rambling.”

“Come on, I play a good game of chess.” Reid interjected. They all laughed, while Reid looked on, baffled but not overly surprised.

“All right, here we are,” Gaetana hurried over, holding a wide tray in her hands. She propped it against her hip, and doled out the beverages meticulously, sliding over a mug with steaming coffee towards Reid. She gave him a small smile before taking their orders. She bounced from table to table, smiling and joking.

“She’s definitely something.” Morgan commented, watching as she spoke easily with an older couple by the window. She laughed at something the older gentleman said, taking their check. She refilled glasses and discreetly slipped bills on the table.

“Very friendly.”

“Except to that asshole, who ever he was.” Garcia mumbled, taking a dainty sip of her drink.

“Why do you think he was an asshole and she's not just crazy?” Morgan asked, watching Reid watch the woman.

“We see crazy every day, and we both know that wasn't it." was Garcia fast rebuttal, pointing her pen at him.

"Come on, did you see how she took care of the girl Claire? And how she’s interacting with her customers. Even now with Reid, he lied to her, but she didn’t get angry. He must have done something really crummy for her to react like that.” Prentiss explained.

“Are we really profiling her right now?” Reid asked, exasperated. She returned with their sandwiches, her smile polite. She walked around their table, serving them individually. “I see your from the FBI then.” she stated, sliding the last dish in front of Reid. She didn’t look at them, but tucked the tray under her arm. “Yes, how did you know?” Prentiss asked, spinning her meal, the sandwich a perfect specimen.

“Well, the badge at the belt and the gun on his hip was the first clue.” she nodded in Morgan’s direction. “Plus, after a while you can tell.” she added, “I have a bunch of regulars from your office.”

“Good observation skills. Statistically, though, law enforcement are the most recognizable outside of their work environments.” Reid said, leaning forward. Morgan rolled his eyes.

“Let me know if you need anything.” was her only response, and Reid sagged.

“So Reid, what made you interested anyway?” Prentiss asked, taking a bite of her sandwich. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she chewed, face relaxed with bliss.

“well...uh,” he stopped, not quite certain himself why he was drawn to her. Maybe it was her smile, and the way the first time he met her, she was covered in flour and strips of it coated her hair. Or maybe it was her normalcy. He didn’t quite know. He shrugged, and took a bite of his own sandwich.

“She is very pretty.” Garcia added, draining the last of her coke. Reid nodded, that certainly was it. She was pretty, with her dark hair and dark eyes and giant smile and how efficient she was. She did the math in her head when the line was long on his second visit. In seconds she had the answer to the question about a bill, tax included. Her hair was always pulled back, and she was curvy and...

“Do you think it’s too late to give her my number?”

“Well, Reid she’s interested. She keeps looking over here.” Morgan offered, “go for it.”

“Just not the Roman numeral thing.” Prentiss warned.

“Why not?” Reid defended, “it’s clever.”

“Reid, no girl wants to play games to talk to you.”

“But...” Reid protested. Gaetana pranced over, a mug of coffee in one hand and a glass pitcher of coke in the next. She refilled Reid’s cup, as well as Garcia’s.

“You are a wonderful human.”

Gaetana laughed, “You still want to say that after the spectacle you walked in on? I’m surprised you all are still here!”

Her eyes glanced to Reid’s before dancing away. “I do apologize for that.”

“Is he a problem for you?” Agent Morgan asked. She studied him before glancing at the doorway that lead to the kitchen.

“Let’s just say I hope he doesn’t turn into one.” Her face was sealed off, and told them all they needed to know about where this conversation was headed. Reid jiggled his foot, anxious to speak but not knowing how.

“Anyway, I hate to rush you, but we do close soon.” she told them, she slipped four separate checks onto the table. She nodded and then left. Morgan’s phone buzzed, and he laid money on the table, before leaving to answer. The phone was close to his ear, and his face grew stern as he spoke. Reid knew what type of call it was. He scratched out his number on the back of the check.

Prentiss gave him a thumbs up when Reid stood, and the two female agents watched as young genius walked unsteadily to the counter, bumping into a chair, hands raised in apology to the started couple on the other side of the table.

“Hi,” Spencer gulped, but found his nervous still remained with him. Her smile was small, and she looked even more exhausted than before.

“I’m Reid, well Dr. Spencer Reid, I have four PhDs, and well, you can call me Spencer. If you want. Or...” he trailed off, knowing the longer he talked, or tried to, the more he would only ramble and babble and make a fool of himself.

“Hello, Spencer.” she nodded, holding out her hand, “It’s a pleasure. Even if you don’t like poppy seeds.” He chuckled, and shook her hand.

“I’m Gaetana by the way.” Reid pulled the check out of his pocket, and placed it a twenty on top. When she saw the numerals underneath the money, she took it carefully, but remained silent.

~~~

Exactly two hours and twenty three minutes later, Dr. Reid’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. An unknown number popped up, and read:

**Perscitus Dr. Reid. I sum impressa.**

Spencer smiled, and began to type back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very clever, Dr. Reid, I am impressed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid works on a case, and Gaetana discusses her love life.

Dr. Spencer Reid bent his head over his cell phone, long fingers typing furiously in the corner of the police station, knowing he was needed elsewhere.

“Reid!” Rossi barked, peering around the disorganized chaos that invaded the conference room. Reid’s head snapped up, and he tucked his phone away. He only wished he could tuck the thoughts of her away so neatly. He was on a case, and distractions only meant trouble.

“Yes?” he asked, hands in his pockets, hair mussed from lack of sleep.

“Do you have a perimeter set up?” Rossi pointed to the pile of maps on the table, overlapping each other, marked with black and red markers.

“Oh, yes,” Reid walked over, and began pulling out the maps, flattening them with his long fingered hand, “So I marked all the sites where the bodies were found in black and the kidnapping sites in red. As you can see they all take place in a twenty-five mile radius,” Reid began to take the maps and tape them on the clear board.

He grew animated, pointing at the red dots, then the black. “Since the area is so wide, this means the un-sub definitely has his own mode of transportation and a large vehicle, capable of stashing a body and hiding it. So it has to be an SUV of some sort.”

He began taking a marker, outlining various routes to the black dots, creating careful lines “Reaching the black sites is difficult and there are no direct routes, he needs an all terrain vehicle to get there.”

He tapped a large black circle in the center, “here is the center, he most likely lives somewhere in this five mile radius. It’s closest to the kidnapping sites, but equi-distant from where all the bodies where discovered.”

“I would begin our search here. It has been three days since the last body was discovered, which means he is going to kidnap again and soon.” Rossi nodded, peering in close to the markings on the maps Reid made. He followed the lines with his eyes.

“Good work, Reid.” Rossi said, “I want you to begin checking local known sex offenders in this general area, and check registered SUVs to each.”

“I already started it, I’ll let you know if anything matches.” Reid explained, shifting onto his toes, “Since the area is generally low income, there are quite a few and most are one parole. I've asked for all their officer files to be sent up.”

“Good, let us know if you find anything.” Rossi ordered, walking out of the conference room, already on his cell phone, updating the rest of the team out in the field. Reid felt the quick two toned buzz in his pocket, but he ignored the tingle as he pulled on the file boxes towards him. His glasses perched low on his nose.

Another buzz. He began pulling out files, laying them methodically on the table, putting them in alphabetical order as he picked up each one. It was simple, easy, the way his mind identified patterns so quickly, like it was instinct. T

here were 47 in total, an abnormally high population for such a small area. He quickly ruled out those listed without driver’s licenses. Another eleven gone.

He pulled out his phone, and swiped, purposefully ignoring the two text messages waiting for him. He dialed, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear, flipping through the files spread in front of him.

"Hey pumpkin, information highway at your service!” Penelope Garcia chirped from the other end of the phone.

Spencer huffed a laugh, “Hey Penelope, I was wondering if you could get me the types of vehicles, make, model, and year of the following individuals?”

“Anything for you, sweetie,”

~~

“So, wow, a whole month with this guy?” Terri’s gray eyes widened, and he held out his hand, pushing Gaetana back. Her heels clicked on the waxed dance floor, arms steady, following the simple one-two-three-four of the waltz they currently practiced. She kept her head tilted, eyes looking over his shoulder, their bodies not slightly off line from one another, legs moving between each other fluidly. Her braid swished against her neck, her skirt catching with her steps.

She fought to keep her smile from her face, the heat still rising from her chest to settle on her cheeks. Spencer. He had a way of making her blush.

“Well, hot damn, look at you, blushing like a school girl!” Terri teased, his laugh soft in her ears. He twirled her out, and then pulled her in.

“Quit that right now.” she warned, her arms tightening, her grip growing firmer on his hand, as she switched to the lead in the dance. Terri laughed, and a few of the bystanders chuckled. Her high schoolers giggled as she pushed him backwards, her stride long even with short legs.

“Gaetana’s got a man friend,” he sing songed, taking back the lead, and dipping her low to prove his point. Her eyes narrowed.

“That’s right,” she barked back as he pulled her back to her feet, and continued the dance. The music fell softly behind them, a background to their murmured conversation, “he’s only a _friend_.”

“Ha! Keep telling yourself that.” Terri responded, switching her so they danced side-by-side, graceful as always. Her heels made more of a sharp snap than before, her grip tight, nails digging into the back of his hand. “Because if he was just a friend, why do you obsessively check your phone? Or, I don’t know, blush apple red whenever I mention his name?”

“I do no such thing.” she protested, her feet moving back, forward, sideways. The waltz was far from her favorite, but she needed the practice. Especially with the Dance Away recital only a few weeks from now. She promised Henri she would dance with him.

“Doc _tor_ Spencer Reid,” Terri murmured, and true to his word, a slight blush blossomed on her cheeks. She turned her head farther away, pointedly looking beyond him.

“Oh look at that,” he broke contact, one finger touching her cheekbone. She swatted at the hand, and backed away. “You’re blushing.”

And she knew it was true. Her face felt hot, almost feverish, and the corners of her mouth hurt from where she battled to keep the stupid smile off her face. She was twenty-six year old female who got butterflies in her stomach and a love-sick puppy look in her eyes whenever the damn nerd’s name was mentioned. It was ridiculous. She was done with all that junk, love and sweethearts and the silly dreams of happy endings. What was she doing?

It had only been a month, it was true, and she wouldn’t say, necessarily, that she was falling for him. But...they clicked. It had been a while since she clicked on for someone, and felt easy around someone she barely knew. It had been a while since she wanted to hold someone’s hand or bring them home for dinner or looked forward to waking up in the morning because yep, there was a message from him. It had been a long while since she found herself distracted by something else than whether or not this recipe called for basil or oregano or both.

He kept up with her, following her long rambling thoughts on linguistics or history or some obscure fourteenth century ballad she found at the library. He merely gave her some of his own, and she found herself checking out books on psychology again and politics and police formality just so she could keep up. It had been a while since anyone could keep up with her.

And Doctor Spencer Reid did just that.

“So, when does this mysteriously fellow get back? And when do I get to meet him?” Terri prodded, walking off the dance floor with her. She shrugged. It was still so _new_ , she didn’t want to chase him away or think about how serious it was or what he wanted or she wanted.

“No idea.”

“Oh come on, you don’t know when you’ll see him again?” he bumped her shoulder, “I could sneak into the restaurant and watch you from three tables away.”

She chuckled low in her throat and shook her head, “No, I don’t need a get away guy.”

“Ohhh, you must really like him then?”

“I know nothing.” she answered, smirking. She sat down, and began untying the straps of her dance shoes.

“Lies!” he spun the chair around and sat backwards on it, resting his chin on his hands, his eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Does he dance?” Her face screwed into a grimace, mouth puckered. A few more couples took to the dance floor, knowing the signal. Once Gaetana’s shoes came off, that meant the La Luna dance floor was soon to close. The music was quieter in their corner, the slow heavy beat of a waltz floated from the too small stereo on the opposite side of the room.

“No, he’s not the dancing type.”

“I thought that was on the list of requirements.” Terri replied, “was that on the non-negotiables?”

She leveled her stare at him, “You need a love life of your own, and stay out of mine.”

“Because before now, you had one to dabble in?”

“Funny. Very funny. You’re a real comedian, Terri.”

“But really, tell me more besides his name. And the fact that he works for the FBI. Which, until now, I never thought I would hear from you.”

“Spencer is...” she trailed off, biting her lip as she thought, eyes glazing over. “just fantastic.”

“That’s not much to go on. Let’s start simply, what does he look like?”

“Oh, Spencer? Well, he’s a bit of a scarecrow.” she answered nonchalantly with a soft laugh, her thoughts immediately thinking of his shy smile, mussed hair, rolled up sleeves of his button down, the way he grew so animated when he began discussing something he liked, the statistics that fell off his tongue more quickly than fireflies in June, and how calm he always seemed, animated but never excitable. “with messy longish hair. And he wears glasses. Thin.”

The description was subpar, but how did she describe Spencer Reid? There was no words to describe a man with an IQ like his, or a gentle smile like his. He was supremely logical, true, but there was more human in him than most people she knew. Maybe it was the job.  

“So you’re type to a T?”

“Pretty much.”

Terri leaned back, shaking his head. “Smart?”

“Oh, you have _no_ idea.”


	4. Chapter 4

Reid fiddled with his square phone, it was relatively basic, only a flip phone. He twirled it between his long fingers, turning it around and around.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so into your phone, Reid.” Aaron Hotchner mentioned, using his pen to point to Reid’s jittery fingers. A closed book lay on the young agent’s lap, his light brown leather messenger bag at his feet.

“Hmm?” Reid looked up, startled. “Oh yeah, I’m waiting for a message.”

Morgan turned around from his seat, leaning over, his smile devious.

“You know all phones off until we land.” Aaron reminded him, his face relaxing slightly around the eyes and mouth, there was no smile, of course.

“And who are you waiting for?” Morgan prompted, wiggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively. Reid looked down, bashful, slipping his phone into bag.

“Just my ride.” he responded evenly, he pulled out a deck of cards, “anyone up for a game of gin?”

“Nah-uh,” Morgan plopped down on the couch next to Reid, who shuffled the cards aimlessly, trying -and failing - to distract himself from thinking of Gaetana, who was probably reading and drinking warm tea, waiting for his call.

It had been going well. Phenomenally well. And they talked, constantly. She drew him in, like a moth to the flame, he couldn’t resist her. She was easy, simple, to be with. She was...was _normal_. In such a chaotic life, with a job as stressful as the one he did, she brought him something he hadn’t realized was missing. She was on level ground with him, able to chase after his brain, but usually with some witticism and equally intelligent response. With her gentle smile, completely scatterbrained train of thought, and the need to feed everyone in sight, she was the embodiement of peace. They all had their own way of de-stressing after cases, and maybe, Reid mulled, going home to an empty apartment and reading yet another book on profiling, wasn’t the answer.

“Who are you waiting for, Reid?” Morgan asked, plucking the cards from his hands. Reid looked up, and made for a snatch for his cards, and failed. Morgan hands hovering the coveted prize just out of reach.

“Win the game, and maybe I’ll let you know.” Reid quickly extracted his cards back, pulling them into his lap. He switched seats to the table, and once again shuffled.

“Oh you are on!” JJ laughed, taking a seat across from the young agent.

“Is it the chef, the woman from La Luna?” Morgan asked, taking the seat next to JJ. “You know, the one you insisted on giving a roman numeral phone number to?”

“I don’t think ‘insisted’ is quite the right word here. I think it’s a clever way to rule out competition.” Reid smiled, and began handing out the cards.

“It’s not like you have a line out the door, Reid.” Morgan raised an eyebrow, and looked at his cards.

“Ouch.” Reid put a hand over his heart before glancing at his own hand of cards. He put two down on the table, sliding them towards the middle.

“So Reid, are you seeing someone?” Hotchner casually inserted his question as the three continued their game. Reid shrugged.

He was private, they all knew this. But at the same time, Gaetana was his, in a way. As close as they all were, lives outside the BAU were rarely a topic of conversation. These were the parts of their lives they held too dear, the parts of themselves they coveted, felt too selfish over. Sure, they shared basics, if just for bonding sakes. But the real parts, the parts that hurt and ached and felt lonely, the nightmares, the sleepless nights, the desire for contact outside the BAU and the serial killers, these were parts of them they held on too tightly, kept secret and separate. Gaetana was that. She wasn’t a profiler, she wasn’t any part of the FBI, CIA, NSA. She owned a restaurant, she cooked and enjoyed ballroom dance. She made him feel happy, and he enjoyed - more than enjoyed - his time with her.

“Ah, well,” Reid smiled, and put down his hand of cards, “looks like I win this round.” He smiled and leaned comfortably back in the leather seats. Aaron glanced up, eyebrow arched.

“So, is that a yes?”

“You cheated.” Morgan exclaimed, throwing down his own cards. Reid shrugged dramatically, lips in a thin line, but a hint of mischievousness in his eyes.

“I am from Vegas.” Then he turned around to look at Aaron, and gave him a quick nod, “I am seeing someone.”

JJ perked up, gathering the cards towards her so she could begin shuffling for another round.

“Is it the chef with attitude?” Morgan asked again, but Reid was intently focused on the cards in his hands now.

“Chef with attitude?” JJ questioned, spreading out her cards in her hands, eyes brow low and quizzical. “Oh is the woman who screamed a jerk out of her cafe by threatening him?”

Aaron shifted, “threatened him?” Reid rolled his shoulder and became very intent on his cards. “How did she threaten him?”

“With knives, if I remember correctly?” Morgan answered.

“I have since discerned there was a problem between one of her employees and that...man.” Reid explained, without looking up at them. “Claire is her youngest employee, and she feels responsible.”

“That’s...interesting.” Hotchner commented, closing the file on his lap and focused on Reid.

“So it is the chef.” Morgan’s expression was smug.

Reid nodded slowly, “It is the chef.”

~~

Reid bustled over his desk, dropping off his case file in the middle, scribbling a note before pressing it firmly over the beige folder. The strap his bag crossed his chest, and his phone buzzed in his pocket.

**Parked outside.**

He shoved the phone back, and tugged at his loosely knotted tie.

“Hey, Reid, slow down.” Morgan called to him, watching the young man hurry around his tiny work station.

“Can’t.”

“Oh, is your ride here, Romeo?” Morgan asked.

“yes, she is.” Reid responded, checking his bag one last time. He was exhausted, his eyes ached, his head throbbed. His body couldn’t move fast enough. Tunnel vision kept him on track, she was waiting for him.

“See you tomorrow.” he called out, ignoring Morgan, who asked him more about her.

With his ready bag clutched in one hand, his messenger across his chest, Spencer Reid did his best not to run out the office door. Her old red century Buick idled in the visitor parking lot, the windows cracked just slightly, and the faint sound of some over played pop song drifted out. Her hands rested on the steering wheel, and for a moment, Reid stopped.

It was still early in the evening, but most of the light was gone, dipped behind the clouds and the buildings, and too many trees and cars and houses were in the way, but when he saw her, there, her profile still, waiting. He wanted to say she was beautiful, but it was more than that. It was this light in her smile and the way she grew so passionate over...over everything. She had such enthusiasm. She liked to make him laugh, and she liked to talk with him, about puzzles and linguistics and theories and her newest craze, aerodynamics. She listened to him describe his cases, give little pieces of himself, and she took them in her arms.

He opened up the door, and she looked up. “Spencer!” she reached over, and grasped his over night bag, throwing it in the back seat. Her car was wide, and old. It creaked a little, but was relatively quiet once the door was closed. She sat too close to the steering wheel for his comfort, but he knew better than to mention it. Size sensitivity. He slid in, the car low.

“Hi, Gaetana,” her named rolled of his tongue easily.

Surprising him, she leaned over, and with one hand brought his head closer, so she could kiss his cheek. He glanced at her, open mouthed. Her smile was large, bright.

“You look like hell warmed over.” she said casually, putting the car into reverse. Spencer closed his mouth, and took off his bag, placing it at his feet. His shirt was untucked, and his tie barely together. Only his silver watch looked normal.

“Well, it was a long few days.” he explained, settling into the car, buckling the seat belt. The car rolled, then stopped at the exit. He closed his eyes, listening to her explain to the guard why she was here. He heard the man chuckle.

Something warm touched his hand, and he jumped. Eyes darting open, looking down. She was twisted towards the window, but her arm stretched over the center console, two fingers gently touching the back of his hand.

Spencer glanced at her, her voice soft and pleasant, as she spoke to the guard. Longer than was necessary, but she liked to chat. He took her hand, looping his fingers over hers, feeling how warm and rough it was. She turned her head slightly, looking at him from the corner of her dark brown eyes.

“Well, have a nice evening! Remember, dance night at La Luna at seven on Wednesdays! Trust me, makes for a great date night!” she laughed. Spencer’s grip tightened, and she squeezed back, her thumb rubbing along his. The car began moving, and Spencer could feel himself relaxing, his body molding into the seat. Everything felt heavy, and he knew it was the classic signs of exhaustion.

It had been three days trying to catch a dual killer team. Three days of barely any sleep, or food. Subsisting on coffee worked for only so long.

“So I say we skip dinner and go straight to popcorn and Star Trek.” she offered, one hand gripping his and the other on the steering wheel.

“I thought you taking me out to teach me how to use chopsticks?” he kept his eyes closed, and the steady roll of the car was soporific, his body sinking down.

“It doesn’t look like you’re up for chopsticks, and let’s be real, neither am I.”

She kept her hand in his, and he liked the feel of it, how small it was, nestled in his own. Statistically, hand holding reduced stressed and the pleasant sensation, linked to the sense of touch, created a production of natural oxycotin, making one feel better.

“So, popcorn and Star Trek, I have _Wrath of Khan_. Or I can bring you back your place?”

He felt the flicker of her gaze, and he was quietly intent on keeping her hand in his own. But he was so tired.

“I do love that one.” the corners of his mouth lifted.

“I make really good popcorn.” she urged, and the smile filled her voice. He knew she was pleased with his response.

“Extra butter?” he asked,

“Like you need to ask!” She responded, and he gave her a small, half hearted smile. He hoped she didn't think he wanted to be elsewhere. He was just too tired. 

The drive was shorter than he expected, but he also suspected he dozed in and out a few times. Yet her hand remained in his, and quite frankly, that’s all he cared about right now. After the past three days...

“Alright, wake up, sleepy head.”

“I’m awake, I’m awake.” he crooned, sitting forward, head full of cotton, the gears of his brain slowly grinding into motion. They were parked in a simple one car driveway, next to a small cottage, two floors, two gables, no front yard to speak of. She reached behind her, grabbing his bag and her own smaller one, pulling them into her lap. But she was out of the car before he even moved to grab his messenger.

When he folded out of the car, she was already opening her front door, balancing the bag on her hip, an inside light switched on. He was moving slow, awkward, and achy from the cramp quarters of the plane. He shuffled after her, and suddenly wanted nothing on his feet.

Her front hall lead down into a kitchen, and opened to the left to a wide living room, a long couch with a blue blanket draped over the back. Two throw pillows lay stuffed into the corner, and three books piled on the floor next to it. Two floor to ceiling bookcases stood guard besides a simple television. The bookcases were packed, brimming with books of all kinds, from fiction to history to biography and poetry.

“Please make yourself at home,” she placed his bag by the unobtrusive staircase and motioned to her cozy, book backed living room. He knew his shoulders slumped, and for a small, fleeting moment, his bravery left him, and he almost asked her to take him home, to his place.

“Hey, Spencer,” she came over to him, moving slowly, as if approaching him too fast would make him dart away. He looked up, and then rubbed under his glasses. He took a deep breath, about to release the words ‘take me home’, when he felt her arms around his waist. Her head pressed against his chest.

“You look like you needed it.” she whispered, pressing her hands into his lower back. Without a thought - which was unusual in general - he wrapped his arm around her in turn, and just bent over her. He did need it, and it surprised just how much.

“yeah,” he murmured, leaning his check against the top of her head. She was so small and warm and grounding. He didn’t want to be alone, but simultaneously nervous about being so...vulnerable around her.

“Alright, come on,” she broke contact, and slipped her hand into his, leading him over to the couch. He followed her, and she pushed him to take a seat. His body folded under the simple pressure, and he plopped down heavily.

“Consider yourself lucky, I let you walk into my living room with your shoes on.” she gave him a pointed look, “that was a hint to take them off.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” he chuckled, and he heard her slip off towards her kitchen, lights switching on in her wake.

“Can I help with anything?” he called out to her.

“No, relax.” the reply was more of an order than a pleasantry.

The ordinary sounds of a tea kettle, bags rustling, cabinets opening greeted him. Such ordinary, ordinary sounds. The kind of sounds you don’t realize you miss until you spend more time in police stations, where stale coffee and stiff donuts are the feasts of the day. She hummed something off tune, repeating the same melody. He swung his feet up on the couch, the cushions soft and feathery, worn from use. Several collage frames hung on the wall, pictures of her and others, smiling and laughing, some candid, some posed. Her life posed before him, open for the reading.

It had been almost two months now, but he had never been here.

A microwave turned on, the aroma of popcorn wafted in towards him. A tea kettle began whistling. Mugs clinked together. Simple, so simple. She put two steaming mugs on a side table, the sweet scent of earl gray. She crouched down, resting her arms on the side of the couch, head tilted to the side, pony tail slipping over her shoulder.

“Milk or sugar?” she asked, her eyes wide open, his drooping.

“Sugar, please?” he asked, he rolled on his side so their faces were inches apart. A glint of something dark flared in her eyes. He could see the outlines of her contacts and he wondered if she ever wore glasses. His lanky body curled into the slate gray cushions.

“May I kiss you?” he asked suddenly. She didn’t look overly shocked, but bordered on amused. Her lips tilted up, and then her eyes flickered his mouth. He knew the body language.

“The sexual harassment training I had at the bureau said consent is key, so I -”

She leaned in and firmly pressed her lips to his, silencing him. It was sweet, gentle. She pulled away, then pressed into his again. Fingers brushed hair from his forehead, and he felt his hand twitch, his body urging him to return the gesture. The microwave beeped. In one swift movement, she was gone.

Something warm spread through his veins, and he could still taste her even after.

But she returned momentarily with a bowl of sugar in one hand and a glass bowl of popcorn in the other, looking lazy and smug and a little too pleased with herself. She set them down next to the mugs, and pulled out a large black zip case, she flipped it open, revealing pages of DVDs.

“ _Wrath of Khan_ or _Search for Spock_?” she asked, pausing to read the titles as she passed through the thick case.

“Oh, _Wrath of Khan_ for sure.” he dumped this third spoonful of sugar into the tea. Something needed to wake him up. Just being around her washed away the dust from the latest case, she drew him away from that dark spot in him that he collected and place every piece of sadness, every contact with evil that he encountered. She swept away the cobwebs, and gathered him to her in a way he had never experienced with anyone. She listened when he needed it. A part of him warned, it was too soon. Too intense. Maybe it was. He didn’t care. He craved this.

As the movie loaded, she sat down on the couch, next to the end table. Spencer stirred his tea absently, watching her take a tentative sip.

“I like this idea much better.”

“So do I.” he agreed, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth, “extra butter?”

“Double extra.” she put the tea down, and relaxed herself into the couch. “None of my friends like classic Star Trek as much as I do. They’re more Next Gen or Deep Space nine.”

“It’s a Picard thing.” Spencer nodded, taking another sip of his tea. “43% of Star Trek fans say they prefer Next Generation.”

“Original all the way.” she cheered, tucking one leg under her knee. "There is something about Spock and just how bad the specific effects are."

The sugar wasn’t helping, in fact, Spencer only felt himself grow more fatigued. She tugged at his shirt, and he let himself be lead. He lay his head on her lap, and she began running her hands through his hair. It was beyond soothing, more than the tea or taking off his shoes or sitting down.

“That feels really good.” he murmured into her lap. She was never usually this quiet. Gaetana had something to say about everything or someone to say that to. She hummed in agreement, taking her time. His eyes grew too heavy, too heavy.

“I know,” she said, tucking strands behind his ears, “It’s my favorite thing. Soothing, right?”

“Yeah,” his eyes flicked up to hers, but she wasn’t looking at him. She watched the movie, following the movements of the screen.

“You really looked like you needed it,” she responded eventually, her fingers repetitive, massaging his scalp. He didn’t respond, but his body grew weightless, his mind slowed. The sounds of the movie sounded far, far away. And when sleep finally took him, his head was still in her lap, a blanket pulled over him, and her fingers still sifting slowly through his hair.


	5. Chapter 5

Spencer groaned, burying his face into the pillow, and shifting onto his stomach, one arm trapped beneath him. Why was his bed so bumpy? And smelled of lavender? Reid cracked an eye, and saw Gaetana’s living room before him. The books piled on the book cases, the creeping sunlight barely piercing through the closed curtains. 

The house was silent except for the hot gurgle of a coffee maker. It was the stillness of dawn, when the light is still tinged with pink. A few cars passed by outside, distant and slow in such a quiet neighborhood. Spencer rubbed his face, feeling the brush of a day’s growth of stubble, faint on his jawline. 

The heady scent coffee filled the house, bubbling. He lay still, stretching his legs out, feet propped on the arm of the couch. He socks were mixed again, one yellow and one blue with thin stripes. His shoulders still felt sore, but that was due to sleeping on a thin couch all night. And he desperately needed a shower. 

Someone moved in the kitchen. He heard a mug hit a counter. It was dreamy, almost surreal. Like the morning made it all move slower. The coffee drew him. The mugs from last night were gone, a blanket was draped over him, but too small for this long, thin body. 

He rolled to his feet, the carpet plush beneath his feet. He heard more slow, quiet sounds from the kitchen, which was bright and only a few steps down the hall. 

She stood at her stove, pouring a cup of tea, the bag floating in the steamy water. Her hair was up in a high pony tail, and she was dressed in running shorts and a yellow athletic tank top. She looked tan. She had a tattoo on the inside of her triceps, and the top of another peaked from the over the crossed back of her tank. 

“Good morning,” he mumbled. Startled, she jumped around, hand slamming into her chest. She was sweaty, cheeks and chest tinged red from exertion, stray strands of hair plastered to her forehead and neck. A pair of running sneakers were parked by a back door, also yellow and worn, laces ratty. 

“Jesus, Spencer,” she let out a loud breath, back pressed against her clean countertops. He dug his hands into his pockets, and rocked. 

“Sorry about that,” he laughed nervously, eyes down. Her clothes clung to her body, and he had never seen... “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

She shook her head, and pulled out a second mug, placing it next to the coffee pot. “I made you coffee.” She pushed the bowl of sugar over with a smile, still leaning in the corner, mug in her hands. She smelled of sweat and grass. 

“oh, thank you,” he busied himself with making his coffee, trying to ignore how close she was, the fact he could smell her, the fact that this was the most naked he had ever seen her, legs crossed in ankle socks. 

“You jog?” 

“Every morning. Good way to start the day.” she smiled, and took a long sip of her tea. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze roving around her large kitchen with the stainless steel appliances, the refrigerator humming quietly between them. It was easier to make note of the five white ceramic containers underneath a row of window cabinets than stare at her body. As much as he enjoyed her brain, he couldn’t help but...want to touch her. 

“I’m not much of a runner.” he finally said, leaning against the counter too, gingerly holding his hot mug between his hands. 

“Really?” she looked over her mug, up at him, “Never would have guessed.” 

“That obvious?” he laughed, her sarcasm was biting, and maybe it was too early and he still felt weird about falling asleep on her couch or staying over at a woman’s home. Gaetana’s home. 

“Thanks for letting me stay over.” he told her, she shrugged. He watched her body move, her arms smooth and toned, the black ink on the inside of her arm catching his eye. Her iPhone, with headphones still plugged in, lay forgotten on her table. 

“Of course, feel better?” 

Spencer took a long sip of his coffee, and surprisingly he did. Even if he slept on a couch that wasn’t long enough and been in the same clothes for the past 36 hours. 

“I left out an extra towel for you upstairs, so you can shower.” She was practical, efficient. She always had that extra thought in her head. She smiled up at him, and then leaned in, kissing his cheek. “I’ll even be nice and let you shower first.” 

“Thanks, I can’t tell who smells worse right now.” 

She laughed, “you sure know how to woo a woman.” 

He reached over her, placing his now empty mug in the sink. She still sipped at her tea, not moving out of his way, forcing him to lean into hers. Gaetana watched him, eyes studying his body. Spencer could profile serial killers with ease, but when it came to reading her body language, he was at a loss. 

He backed up, “where is the bathroom?” He bumped into a chair, and she hid her bark of laughter behind a sip of tea. 

“Upstairs. First door to the right. If leave your shirt and pants outside the door, I can add it a load of laundry.” 

He paused, “really? Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.” 

Gaetana shook her head, “I do a load every Tuesday and Thursday, and well, look at that, it’s Tuesday.” 

“I...I, uh, thanks. You’ve been really cool with...” he gestured to himself. “And last night.” He pointed vaguely towards the living room. She shrugged. 

“It’s what I do.” she jerked her chin a him playfully, “I’m so cool, I’m like ice.” She slid in her socks over to him, and stood on her tip toes, and kissed the underside of his jaw. 

He laughed at her behavior, how carefree she was. No one he worked with was like this anymore. “You’re weird. I like it.” 

“I love flattery,” she winked at him, before shooing him away. “Go shower.” 

He ducked his head, and shuffled out. She finished her tea, and pranced upstairs. She grabbed the clothing left outside of the bathroom, the shower running steadily. 

Gaetana rushed around her own bedroom, picking through her laundry basket, before slipping down to her basement. She set the laundry in for a quick cycle before returning to her kitchen. 

Spencer Reid stood helpless in the middle of the tiled room, a brown towel tied around his waist. His hair was slick and wet, brushed behind his ears and curling upwards. 

“Well, good morning, Dr. Reid.” she cooed. He blushed, chest still tinged pink from the shower. He crossed his arms over himself. 

“I’ve never dated a woman this long before.” he blurted, looking at her. “I don’t know where to go from here. I like you.” 

Gaetana’s face softened, “Oh Spencer,” she titled her head, the tip of her pony tail sliding down her shoulder. Her hair was long and thick and wavy towards the tips. “We go where we want. I guess we’ve needed to have this conversation.” She sighed. “I like you, too.” Her eyes were soft, her body relaxed, leaning against the door jamb. 

He opened his mouth, “Statistically, most heterosexual couples begin a sexual relationship within the first three dates, if they are interested in a long term commitment.” 

“Is that your way of saying you want to have sex with me?” 

“I think so?” He cocked his head. 

She looked hard at him, studying him, and sidled up closer. She came very, very close, and he fidgeted. “Have you had sex before?” 

She slipped her hand on his waist, just above the towel. They had barely touched before last night, a quick kiss or hug. They had danced around it, really, ignoring the attraction, and let their words do the seducing. But now, Spencer, clear headed and heart racing, wanted her, and well, she wanted him. He had read about the body movements, the way the eyes grew dilated, the flush on the neck. 

But he had never experienced them before. In real life they were heady, like balloons in his brain, and something that made his stomach flip. He loved talking to her, he did. But now, he just...just wanted something physical. That wasn’t wrong. 

Gaetana lifted her hand to his cheek, “No, huh?” He leaned into it. 

He nodded in agreement. Twenty-seven and a virgin. God, he was so bumbling even the nerds didn’t want him. His way of impressing a woman was phone numbers through roman numerals and sprouting statistics like so men bring home flowers. His brown eyes likes sad. 

She kissed him, hard. She pulled him down, and this was nothing like what he experienced. This wasn’t a kiss in the pool, where he fought it. There was no voice like Gideon’s telling him to behave like an agent. There was no guilt or worry. There was no heat transference causing him to doubt whether she meant. No, Gaetana knew what she wanted, knew it and took it. 

His hands hovered blindly around her body, before settling on her face and back. She was hot but gentle, probing him, feeling his lips with her tongue. He sighed into her, feeling the curved lines of her back. Her body felt muscled, hard, but it she trembled as his fingers graced her neck. 

“Spencer...” she murmured against his lips, punctuating it with another kiss. “You tell me when to stop.” Her fingers slipped into his hair, and he couldn’t control the urge. His brain took a back seat for once. 

He pushed her back until she hit the edge of the countertop, then lifted her, sitting she was more his level, his shoulders not having to stoop to reach her. His lips found hers, and he kissed her over and over, mind racing with everything he had ever read about women and bodies and anatomy and statistics, statistics, statistics. 

“Don’t,” he said, cradling her face in his hands, grinning stupidly, his breath harsh and shaking, matching her own, her smile, “Don’t stop.”


	6. Chapter 6

Reid tapped a pencil on his desk, and his mind wandered to that morning when they first made love. Back then, over a year ago now, when she still smiled at him and he had this idiotic idyllic view of how it would go for them. They had laughed when she rolled off the couch accidentally, and his awkward reflexes at trying to prevent her only landed him on the floor. She had kissed him, hands delved into his hair, her lips soft and tasting of sugar and honey. 

He spent the next hour just running his fingers over her various scars and tattoos, asking her about each, raptly listening to the explanations. This scar: sick when she was a baby and had intense surgery. Lord of the Rings tattoo: her favorite ever book and movie series ever. He pointed to the scar on his knee: he got shot by an un-sub while he pretended to be a doctor of all things. She had fussed over that, and he wasn't going to pretend that he felt a little proud. 

Over breakfast they had discussed her master’s thesis on the advent of art and language in Neolithic Europe, the hand paintings and pictographs, the similarities and differences to early Asian languages and what this possibly meant on the growth of early hominid brain function, which lead into an even greater discussion on colloquial language and modernist art. 

He tried to shake these memories from his head, the images flickering through his brain like some old movie reel. Usually compartmentalizing didn’t take such intense thought, he could push away anything no case related. This is what they were _trained_ to do, focus on the task at hand. Push away emotions. Hide away memories and trauma. Forget it existed and barrel through. 

But it had never been like with Gaetana. Even in the beginning, he couldn’t step away from his phone, the need to talk to her overwhelming his concentration, splitting him in two. He could never push her away, hide her away. She wouldn’t let him. After the bad cases, coming home, she always demanded to be there, whether it was just letting him sleep in her guest bedroom or hold his hand as he cried after the deaths of children or hugging him in the kitchen, keeping him attached. She was the strong one, and she demanded his attention and he gave it to her because having her to look forward to was better than an emptiness he had before. 

And now where was she? Curled up back at her house, _possibly_ out of bed, but unlikely. He had done this to her, broken her, shattered her, snubbed out her light and pretended to know how to put her back together. 

The office chatter grated on him. The clicking of keyboards, soft voices, the ringing of telephones. Yet it was still better than walking into her house, facing the absolutely dreadful silence.

“Reid?” Hotch called from the doorway of his office, “I need your paperwork on the Nicholson case.” 

“Right on it.” 

But when he looked back down at the mostly empty reports, nothing came to mind except suicide statistics of the clinically depressed.


	7. Chapter 7

“Whoa, whoa Romeo, where you off to in such a hurry?” Morgan moved quickly to block Reid in the corner of his empty desk. His files were organized, he wrote his Monday reminder notes, color coded and set in a line by his phone. 

“We haven’t seen you outside of work for while now, kid. Where you off to?” Morgan leaned on the partition, looking genuinely worried. 

“I’m not addicted to anything, I promise,” was Reid’s poor joke. Morgan’s stern look told him enough. 

“Ha!” Garcia sauntered over, Emily’s arm linked through hers, “There is a woman in your life and I know it. Who is she?” 

Reid shifted, and pushed his bag behind him, the strap sliding over his argyle sweater vest, sleeves rolled up, hair tucked over his ears. There was a woman in his life, and he hadn’t seen her in eleven days and tonight was the recital for her program, Dance Away. She wasn’t expecting him back for another two days, but Reid, in a stroke of genius (Rossi said luck, but luck didn’t factor into mathematical equations on time, area dimensions, and cartography) was able to determine the hideaway of this particular killer and get them home. 

And he wasn’t going to miss this for anything now that he was here. 

“I’m late for something.” he answered as calmly as he could. Taxis didn’t wait forever. And at this time of night the traffic would heavy already, five to seven minutes of delays expected. 

“For what, sweet cheeks?” Garcia asked innocently, “don’t hold out on us now. Who’s the lady?” 

“Is this the same lady who gave you a ride a few weeks back?” Morgan ventured, his smile easy and hungry, the kind he wore when he talked about women. Reid nodded, and pushed his glasses further up his nose. 

“And now, I don’t want to be late.” He tried to nudge past Morgan, but Morgan, being both wider and stronger, stood his ground. 

“Late? How is possible for you to set up something with this lady friend when we have been on the ground for less than twenty minutes?” 

“Are you surprising her?” Garcia gasped, jumping up and down giddily, her purple and blonde hair bouncing in their pig tails. 

Reid blinked slowly, they really were profilers.   
“Yes.” he responded automatically. When neither of them budged, he sighed, knowing they were letting him leave without an explanation, “She runs this program called Dance Away -” 

“Hey, isn’t that the break through program that helps at-risk teenagers with depression through dance?” Emily interrupted, “because that is one hell of a program. Gained a lot of attention when it boosted West D.C’s public high school’s graduation rate by three precent.” 

“Actually, it’s not just depression. Although it doesn’t focus on just one school, it is centralized in West D.C, and helps teenagers with a myriad of different mental health programs, Aspengers, ADD, ADHD, depression, anxiety, PTSD.” Reid explained, he rummaged through his bag and pulled out a crumpled flyer advertising the recital. 

“She’s been planning this for months. It a showcase of the work she’s been doing with these kids. But also functioning as a fundraiser and garners media attention.” 

“Well, it says here it starts in forty minutes and it’s across the other side of the city.” Emily pointed to the flyer, which Reid plucked from her fingers. 

“Which is why I-”

“Well then let’s get going!” Garcia exclaimed, dragging Reid and Prentiss towards the exit. 

“You make it sound like you’re coming with me?” 

“Well, smarty pants, of course we are!” 

Morgan clapped Reid on the back, following behind with Emily. “We had to meet this lucky lady of yours sometime, Reid. Why not now?” 

“Because I want her to continue to like me.” Reid grumbled, but nonetheless feeling grateful for her reassuring arm over his narrow shoulders. 

~~~

The four sidled down the narrow alley of seats in the high school auditorium, bottles of water clutched in their hands. Spencer’s bag bumped against his leg, and he held a brown paper wrapped book in his hands. The lights were low and so was the conversation. Seats were full, children and parents swarmed together, their laughter the infectious kind that slipped from person to person, the comfortable way they touched arms as they told stories and caught up on their every day lives.   
“Is this what normal people do with their lives?” Prentiss asked in a low whisper, leaning over to Garcia. 

“It’s like a whole other world.” Garcia agreed, then looked over at Spencer, who although sitting, was leaning forward, stretching his neck, looking for her. 

 

“It is.” he replied to no one in particular. The three looked at him, still so amazed to see their young agent, Spencer Reid, eagerly watching for a woman. 

“So, how long have you and Ms La Luna been seeing each other?” Morgan wanted to know, “because frankly I’m surprised she didn’t whip yo ass when you gave her those damned roman numerals!” 

“Actually, she found it quite impressive. A large number of the population are sapiosexuals.” Reid explained, settling disappointedly into his seat. People walked across the stage, fixing lights, waving to someone they knew in the crowd. Two large flyers were stood at titled angles on either side of the stage, they listed the order of the dances and the names of those participating. 

“Sapio-what?” Morgan asked, squinting at his friend. 

“It means someone highly attracted to intelligence.” Emily answered before Reid could. 

“Three and a half months.” Reid turned to Morgan, “We’ve been together for three and a half months.” 

“Explains why we never see you anymore.” Emily shrugged, 

“I see you at work every day.” Reid’s brows furrowed. 

“Outside of work, you never hang out with us anymore.” Garcia gave him the look, “we thought we lost you to another Star Trek binge.” 

“That’s not even remotely true, and you knew I was seeing her, I told you on the plane a month ago.” Reid defended, his eyes constantly checking the stage. It was only four minutes to the start. 

“But you made no mention of her since then.” Garcia swatted at Reid, getting his attention, “you just shut us out, you know.” She pouted playfully, 

Spencer’s gaze was long in leaving the stage, before looking at his three friends, who all were staring expectantly at him. “I like a little privacy.” 

“I can respect that. But Reid, you have us all curious, throw us a bone here.” 

“It’s Gaetana Gentilli, from La Luna.” the lights flickered, once, twice, signaling to those still standing to take seats. The place was full, only a few empty chairs left. How did he describe her? How was it possible to describe this woman whom he had only known for a few short months, but felt powerfully attracted to? 

She had become so important to his life, he felt strongly for her, about her. She was his secret, the warm bed at night, the laughter, the goodness he held onto when he worked a case. 

“She’s one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met,” he shifted in his chair to face them, “she graduated from this small liberal arts college in New York with a quadruple major and a minor, with a 4.0.” His face grew whimsical, “and then decided to not pursue any of that, quit her PhD program to move here, and open a restaurant.” 

“Holy crap, who does that?” Garcia gasped, “why would she do that?” 

The lights dimmed completely, and Spencer turned around, his words stopped short. With an immense round of applause, three people walked into the middle of the stage. But Spencer only saw Gaetana, standing between two others, smiling, face red with nervousness and excitement.


	8. Chapter 8

Each dance was precise, some short and some long. Some ending with joyous tears, bundles of flowers launched onto the stage by parents, friends, and other dancers. They were teenagers with problems, teenagers with bad home lives that came to dance away the frustration, teenagers with depression who came to dance for an hour or two to alleviate that pressure, they were teenagers who came because they wanted to support their friends, they were lovers and friends and a held together by strong, strong bonds.

Gaetana or a man named Terri announced each act, her voice ringing clear as she lauded the dancers that would prance across the stage. She told anecdotes, praising the kids for their hard work, and then ending each act with a hug from her. Many of them cried into her shoulder, and even from the back, Spencer saw the gloss of unshed tears in her own eyes.

Many of the dancers told their own stories: who had depression. Who had anxiety. Who came from a broken home and found something in dance. They were powerful stories, stories that his team only dreamed of. These were the problems he listed off when dealing with un-subs - depressed as a teen, broken home, abuse, bad neighborhoods- and she was giving them something they so desperately needed, strength and the knowledge that they had nothing to ashamed of. She made them stronger every time she hugged them, every time she encouraged them, danced with them.

Spencer held his breath whenever she came on stage, her smile beaming, her laughter touching him in a hollow place on the inside. Gideon once told him the day he stopped being affected by the job, he was in serious trouble. He never mentioned how lonely it could make you, he never had anyone but the job before, but now...now he had her and she was the complete anthithesis of what he did.

“Hello folks!” Three of the dancer made their way to the center of the stage. They were dressed in suits, the girl in a long asymmetrical dress, high red heels. She smiled, and leaned on one of the suited teens.

“We cannot thank you enough for joining us tonight!” the girl said giddily, she twirled around. “But I think, we should see some real pros up in here!” She held up her hand, one finger pointing skyward.

“Yeah!” the two boys chorused, clapping ferociously. Spencer leaned forward, she said she wasn’t dancing tonight, but he had secretly hoped she would. The crowd began applauding, a few men whistling loudly.

“C’mon, Ms. G! Dr. T!” the three on the stage called. It took two minutes and fourteen seconds before Gaetana was lead out by the hands of two girls in sweats and sneakers, who danced together in some hip-hop routine that Spencer found impressive, but not overly interesting. From the other side of the stage, a tall, traditionally handsome man walked out confidently. He turned to Gaetana, and offered her his hand. She was still shaking her head, blushing.

“Tonight isn’t about _me_ ,” she protested weakly, glancing nervously into the audience.

“Dance for us!” a deep male voice called out, “dance, dance!” the chanting began, and even Garcia joined in. Prentiss stamping her feet.

Gaetana held up her hands in a placating gesture and sighed in defeat.

“Can I at least put on better shoes?” and she scurried off stage. She had been wearing a long flowing skirt and loose long sleeved top, Spencer hadn’t noticed shoes.

“The women definitely has her priorities straight,” Penelope laughed, giving Spencer a wink.

Spencer, though, was not prepared for what she stepped out in.

The dress had a tight bust, and dipped low in the back, the skirt only long and rippled with each movement as she stalked back on stage. Her shoes were dance professional. Her tattoos decorated her tan skin, her hair pulled into a tight bun.

“Whoa now, kid, is that even the same woman?” Morgan whistled low, gaving Spencer a knowing and proud look. “Hot damn.”

The man held out his hand to her as they circled one another, her head titled down, gaze upwards. Their fingers barely touched, before she stepped away. He followed, steps precise and smooth. This was the dance. Cat and mouse, run and seek.

The tango. They were dancing the tango.

Spencer felt an odd angry heat fill his chest as he watched the two of them size one another up, circling, playing.

Until the man captured her shoulders, pulling her back against his chest, their feet began moving, the dancing truly beginning. A line of students began whistling biosterously as their legs shot out in unison, and she turned, the two grasping hands tightly. He began to guide her across the stage at a phenomenonlly fast rate, their feet a blur of steps as they covered the stage, back and forth.

The tempo and swell of the music increased, as did their dance. Their arms were tight as he guided her, swung her around, and then finally bent her down, her limber back dipping her until her head almost touched the floor. He spun her, arms straight out to her sides, dancing back to front, her head tilted to the side, so Spencer watched her placid profile.

“Looks like someone wants to steal your girl, Reid,” Morgan leaned over, but Reid didn’t respond. Spencer knew Morgan only joked with him, but he felt brittle at the core.

He watched as the man lifted Gaetana up with ease, and she kicked her leg out, straight as an arrow. Their movements were fluid and smooth and they rippled around the stage like water, their bodies contorting and bending and their feet never missing a step around each other. It was something Reid could never do, move that gracefully, fix his body to bend with the musical notes.

And then the tempo changed once more, becoming harsher more dominant, and with a surprised look at his face, Gaetana took the lead in the dance. Her gaze was strong, her arms pushing the man around, twisting his torso, kicking between his legs. The other dancers whooped and hollered, impressed and enjoying the change.

As the tempo began to slow again, Spencer felt almost uncomfortable watching her. The tango...the tango was a very sexual dance...very. The man with her smiled and whispered something to her, she smiled back. He twirled her, once, twice, and then dipped her over his arm. The song ended.

The applause that erupted was ear splitting, people yelling, stamping their feet, clapping. The two bowed gracefully, smiling, holding hands. Spencer felt angry, and he shoved the book back into his bag. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Morgan put a hand on his shoulder, and pushed Reid back into seat.

“We did not drive all the way here just so you could sneak out. Dance partners, not lovers.” Morgan pointed at the two.

“You don’t know that.” Reid grumbled, something aching in his chest. They moved so well together, and naturally being in such close proximity to one another, it would be difficult to not develop an attachment of some sort.

“Ms. G that was great!” two girls ran on stage, leaning their chins on Gaetana’s shoulders. Gaetana looked warm, but pleased, eyes shining.

“Same to you, Dr. T!” one chirped. Soon the rest of the performers piled on stage, the man looked softly at Gaetana and backed away.

“Well, folks, it is that time of the night when we must say our goodbyes and our thank yous!” one of the boys - Henri - came forward.

“We thank you all for coming and supporting us here at Dance Away!” a girl -Maddie - proclaimed, “It is your support that keeps us going! Dance has changed us all in some way, and all for the better. Except you Darryl, you’re still a jerk.” She stuck out her tongue at a tall, lanky boy towards the back. A flutter of laughter dashed across the audience.

Spencer still sat broodily, watching.

“But really, our biggest thank you goes to Gaetana Gentilli, our most beloved dance teacher.” Henri threw out his arm, directing the attention of Gaetana who now blushed red with embarrassment.

“Gaetana has been our mentor,” he began,

“our instructor,” said Maddie,

“our supporter,” said another young man,

“But most importantly our friend.” Another young woman, one of the ones who pulled her on stage, ended with. 

“You have done so much, and we really don’t thank you enough!” Maddie bent her head so it touched Gaetana’s, who now openly cried, trying to hush them up.

“You have been there to each and every one of us in your own way, and I promise this isn’t to get you to bring in more muffins. We like you without the muffins.”

Gaetana hiccuped a laugh, and opened her arms to Maddie and Henri.

“So can we get a very loud, very obnxious round of applause for our teacher and resident ass whooper, Gaetana Gentilli?” Henri cried, leaning back.

And it was indeed. As parents and school administrators and siblings and family and friends stood on their feet, clapping and crying and shouting inaudible sounds of love and gratitude, a large bouquet of sunflowers was placed in Gaetana’s arms, her tears leaving stains on her cheeks. One by one the students walked up to her, wrapping their arms around her, hugging her in varying degrees of tight.

Spencer was amazed by the show of love for her, but at the same time, he knew he shouldn’t be. He saw in her the abundance of love and car and obsessive need to take care of others. These kids needed that, desperately. It was no wonder they adored her the way they did.

“You found one hell of a woman, Reid.” Morgan seemed proud. But still, the dance irked him, grated on him. It was so...so sensual. He knew she was an amazing human being. But that didn’t stop him from feeling awkward around such a display. Was her dancing always like this? “Thank you, thank you,” she said, “please, thank you, but no more." she turned towards Henri, and wagged her finger at him jovially, "The ass whooping you are going to get!"

Henri laughed, "It was so worth it, Ms. G!"

And then she turned back to the audience, still red in the face, clutching the flowers to her, "We still have our last dance. Something a little fun to end the evening with. Thank you all so much,” She wiped away remaining tears. “I hope you enjoy this as much as we do dancing it.”

The fast beat of Maroon 5’s newest song “Sugar” began to pump over the sound system. Just the beat. Gaetana returned in jeans and black converse, black top, hair still in the bun.

“We here at Dance Away have many people to thank, for their support and encouragement, love and kindness. Why I _know_ this is a more of a lovey-dvoey song” she waved her hands, shimmying her shoulders slowly, “the dancers really like it, and we would like to dedicate this song to all those who love us and we love back. Thank you.”

She took a few prancing steps backwards, the rest of the dancers joining her. It wasn’t so much of a coordinated dance as a bunch of very exuberant, giddy teenagers jumping around happily. Gaetana passed from group to group, dancing swing, parts of the tango, and hip-hop. It may not have seemed choreographed, but Spencer quickly picked up the pattern.

As quickly as it started, they began to line themselves up, heading to the wings to pick up square signs. Reid knew where it was going as they began holding up the signs, names printed in neat lettering.

Sometimes it was the names of parents, the teens running down into the audience, hugging and kissing their family. Sometimes it was the name of a partner, once it was another in the dance group, and the two kissed, blushing, and holding hands afterwards.

The refrain of the song was on its third repeat, when Gaetana’s row finally stepped up. She looked apprehensive, holding her sign down, hiding whatever was written on it. He felt nervous, and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was her own nervousness, so clearly seen on her face.

“Show us! You promised!” a few of the teens called out to her, and with a sheepish grin, she flipped up the board.

And there it was.

**Dr. Spencer Reid**

Written clear as day and up there for all the world to see.


	9. Chapter 9

His phone buzzed. It was her doctor. Spencer ignored it. 

 

~

 

Spencer actually jumped to his feet, dropping his bag as he applauded, focused on her bashful face. The teenagers crowded around her, the show concluded, their questions drowned in the noise of parents clapping, talking, yelling incoherently. Morgan whooped excitedly, using his fist to pump the air, Penelope giving Reid a side hug. But he was focused, all he saw was her grin as she flipped the board, revealing his name. 

She just told an auditorium full of people that...that they were _together._ It wasn’t for show, she had no idea he was there. No idea he saw her do that. She did it because he meant something to her. 

He pushed his way out of the row of seats, people beginning to mosey around, mingle, linger, chat, mothers wiped away tears, siblings bent over their phones, swiping past pictures, watching videos of the dancers. The crowds began to pour into the center aisle, and he pushed against them, moving towards the stage. His bag clutched tightly to his chest, his elbows awkwardly pointing from his sides. 

“Hey!” He held up a hand, and vaguely heard Morgan call his name behind him. “Hey! Henri!” He was on the steps of the stage, front and middle. The boy was picking up discarded signs. 

The boy looked at him from beneath a fedora, eyes suspicious, “Do I know you?” he asked, giving him a hard look. 

“No, I-I...” 

“Spencer?!” her voice was high, sharp, and her heard her heels clack sharply against the hardwood stage. He looked up, and well, she was radiant. Her hair was still fiercely tucked into a bun high on her head, her cheeks rosy from exertion and excitement and the affects of adrenaline. Her black dress back on, settling comfortably on her body. 

“Spencer!” she cried when he looked up, floppy hair falling into his eyes. He felt paralyzed, like her soft eyes and fluids movements and surprised yet happy smile rooted him to where he stood. 

And he was still standing firmly in place when she ran into his arms, pushing them backwards, and well, Spencer Reid was never known for his dexterity or grace, and they both fell in painful heap on the floor. 

“Oh god, oh god, Spencer I’m so sorry!” she somehow extricated herself smoothly from his pile of arms and legs and satchel. She kneeled next to him and pulled him into a sitting position. Henri and a few others around them laughed while circling them, checking in our their well being. 

Spencer rubbed the back of his head. “Should I call an amublance? Are you hurt?” a few murmured around them. 

But all Spencer could see was her curled next to him, skirts around her legs, her hands probing his head for injury. He winced. 

“Hey, pretty boy, you just got tackled by a girl.” Morgan stepped up to them and crouched down. Gaetana’s gaze went blank as she looked over the newcomer. 

“Pretty boy?” 

Andddd of course that is what she could focus on. 

“Please tell me she didn’t hurt that precious brain of yours!” Morgan joked, either ignoring or not hearing her remark, but again, Gaetana only watched Morgan, as they stood up. Her shoulders went stiff. Spencer watched as they instantly went into attack mode. 

He had seen this twice before. Bigger, buffer, dominant men tend to put her immediately on the defensive. Spencer had several working theories, but he had promised himself and her not to profile in the relationship. And Morgan hit two of her buttons in one go. 

He knew many saw Morgan’s nicknames as belittling, which she did now, and his size. She slipped her hand down his arm, and entwined their fingers all the while keeping her gaze firmly on Morgan. 

If that wasn’t a sign of possession, he wasn’t sure what was. 

“Are you okay, Spencer? Do you need ice?” she asked, finally breaking contact with Derek, who was still busying teasing the young agent. 

“No, I’m good.” he gazed down at her, squeezing her fingers in reassurance. She gave him a big smile, and reached up, kissing his cheek. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, as Garcia and Emily finally came prancing up to them. 

“Is this her?” Garcia opened up her arms, and embraced Gaetana in a large, friendly hug. “You are _gorgeous_ , and you dance beautifully.” 

Spencer saw the bomb completely defused. A little flattery went a _long_ way with her he found. And Garcia had just stepped in and smoothed everything over. 

“Our little G man over here almost ran here, he wanted to come so badly.” Garcia explained, nudging Reid was her elbow. Spencer blushed and looked down. 

“I wasn’t going to run here.” he mumbled, but Gaetana’s thumb rubbed against his hand, “I had a taxi.” 

“But we really wanted to meet you.” Emily added, “since anyone who can keep up with Reid must be great.” 

“Oh, he talks about me that much, huh?” her laugh was nervous, and her unconscious step closer to him, made him want to pull her into his chest and hold her. It was something he particularly enjoyed. Just holding her, because there was something undeniably soothing about holding another person just for the sake of holding them.  

“Actually, not at all.” Morgan said, his voice and body language smooth. 

“oh, really?” she glanced up at him, “because he talks about all of you all the time.” Her smile was genuine, as she pointed to Penelope, “Queen of all things technical, Penelope Garcia,” 

Garcia giggled and nodded, “you betcha girly.”

“Emily Prentiss?” Gaetana narrowed her eyes playfully, mock ducking as she pointed to Emily. 

“Yes!” Emily held out her hand, and the two women high-fived. The nervousness quelled inside him. As much as he wanted her out of th BAU life, knowing they could merge when needed relaxed him a bit. 

Her eyes slid to Morgan, “Derek Morgan, I presume?” Her voice was polite, not crisp, just polite. Morgan caught the change in attitude, but made no mention, and thankfully, no remark. 

They shook hands.

“I wanted to surprise you, actually.” Spencer interjected, rocking on his feet. “But it seems you did some surprising yourself.” 

“Ha, yeah, about that...” she chuckled under breath, looking away. But then she gazed back up at Spencer, and she leaned her head against his arm, and Garcia began flapping her hands. 

“You two are adorable and before I die of cute overload, I just need, I just need,” and she whipped out her phone and snapped a picture of the two them. 

“What? No!” Spencer back peddled, but Gaetana kept him still. 

“Please don’t fall on the stairs and hit your head again.” she warned, and he stopped, his body growing still. 

Garcia pulled up the picture, and showed Emily. “Now we have proof she exists.” Emily whispered conspiratorially. 

“Oh, wait,” Spencer ignored the two giggling women, and turned to the one person he really wanted to be with. “I have something for you.” 

He slowly pulled his hand from hers, and she bit her lip. Spencer glanced at her for a moment, face growing red, and then reached into his bag. 

He pulled out the gift wrapped in now crinkled brown paper. 

“For me?” 

“For you.” He handed over the paper. “63% of of women despise gifts of flowers.” He nodded as she meticulously peeled away the paper. “I think you’ll like this better.  

“Most people just rip it off. Want me to show you?” Garcia asked. Gaetana looked up, then made a show of carefully detaching the tape from the paper. 

“I’m not most people.” was her cocky response. When the paper fell to the ground, she squealed. 

“Spencer! _Where_ did you find this?” she carefully opened the cover of the book, “holy shit, 1887?” She giggled and held it to her chest. “And in such great condition, look - look at the gilding on the edges of the pages! Ah! I love it! Thank you!” She wrapped one arm around his neck, and crushed them together. “Thank you!” 

“Holy crap, they were made for each other, weren’t they?” Penelope gaped watching as they bent over the book, and Spencer began to explain every little nuance that attracted him to the book. 

“Who knew? A female version of Reid.” Morgan nodded, watching the petite woman beam at the book and then at Reid.


End file.
